


pick the petals before it blooms

by sunflowerrichie



Category: IT (2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bisexual Richie Tozier, Cute Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Eddie Kaspbrak Loves Richie Tozier, Eddie Kaspbrak is a Mess, Endgame Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Falling In Love, Gay Eddie Kaspbrak, M/M, Mild Language, Oblivious Richie Tozier, Richie Tozier & Stanley Uris Are Best Friends, Richie Tozier Flirts, Richie Tozier Has ADHD, Richie Tozier Loves Eddie Kaspbrak, Richie Tozier is a Mess, Soft Richie Tozier, Underage Smoking, richie tozier is self conscious, they're like 16 in this
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-23
Updated: 2018-11-01
Packaged: 2019-06-14 22:38:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15399069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunflowerrichie/pseuds/sunflowerrichie
Summary: something beautiful has sprouted in eddie due to feelings he has for richie. however, those feelings feel as if they are consuming him.





	1. in bloom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> eddie's flowers are starting to bloom.

it had always been like this, the sounds of the crowded lunchroom dull in the background as the losers sat around each other, engulfed in a conversation. at least, that’s what it felt like to all seven of them, smiling across at each other, laughing occasionally and getting the attention of surrounding students. they sat in their usual seats, richie next to eddie and mike, stan across from him, next to bill, and beverly and ben beside them. _lucky seven,_ richie thought, biting into his apple, _couldn't have it any other way_.

richie noticed eddie sat next to him, glaring daggers into his head. he turned to look down at him, his mouth full with chewed up apple and his glasses slipping down his nose. “want some?” he asked, offering the part of the apple he bit off to eddie, in which the smaller boy made a disgusted face at.

eddie opened his mouth to speak, but was cut off by the painfully loud bell ringing throughout the room and bouncing off the walls, everybody seeming to get up at the same time. richie stood, towering over a still sitting eddie, tossing his apple carelessly into the trash and extending his arm out to him, pushing his glasses up easily with his other hand.

“come on, eddie spaghetti, don’t wanna be late,” he said with a lopsided grin, making eddie stand to his feet and slap the lanky boy’s arm away.

“shut up, richie. i told you not to call me that,” eddie said grumpily, his face heating up slightly at the nickname. richie took notice of this immediately, pinching his cheek softly.

“awe, eds is blushing,” the lanky boy said in an exasperating tone, looking up at the rest of the losers, who were all packing up and engaged in their own conversations. “guys, look! eds is blushing,” he cooed, getting groans from the losers and yet another slap from eddie, but still, he was grinning. _does this boy ever stop fucking smiling?_ the squinting boy had thought at the time.

“leave him alone, trashmouth,” stan said, neatly packing one non-eaten sandwich back into his lunchbox. “he doesn’t want your grimy hands all over his face.” they had been friends since the beginning, easily bonding. stan still treated him as the rest of the losers did, though he had been the one there for him when he got blackout drunk and was crying in the toilet bowl which belonged to someone they couldn't recall. 

“but he _does_ want my-”

“beep beep richie!” all of the losers said at once, the saying that meant ‘shut the fuck up before we kill you, richie’ easily sliding off their tongues, to which richie huffed at.

“i didn’t even get to finish my sentence,” he whined, watching as beverly rolled her eyes and ben watched her carefully, a look that meant he adored her plastered over his face. beverly and ben had hit it off around the beginning, ben falling in love with her easily, and beverly blushing at the thought of him every once in a while.

“y-you dih-didn’t have t-to,” said bill, his light stutter in his voice making an appearance, though none of the losers ever noticed anymore. they all loved bill; him being a natural leader, the one who could easily shove away his fears if anyone close to him was in trouble.

the conversation soon died out after that, all the losers bidding their goodbye’s and going their separate ways. as eddie walked to class quietly, the image of the taller boy’s smile flashed quickly behind his eyes, as it usually did; but this time he had thought it may have been a little different. this time, it was less of an obnoxious thought to eddie; but more of an intriguing thought. there was a ping in his lungs as the thought had noise to it, richie’s laugh echoing through his head. he felt the need to reach for his sunflower yellow aspirator, taking a puff and placing it back in his pocket. _it’s stuffy in here, yeah, it was just the air; nothing to worry about._

-

“hey, cutie,” is the first thing that rolled off richie’s tongue as he stepped foot into the kaspbrak household the next night, a regular occurrence. eddie’s head whipped around to squint at him, which made the taller boy laugh. “thought you’d enjoy some of my company.”

eddie placed the book he had been reading, before he was so _rudely_ interrupted, to the side, sighing. “you _know_ my mom’s not here, yet you continue to crawl in through my window.” he almost chuckled at how goofy richie could be sometimes, but pushed it into the back of his throat painfully.

“’s fun, you should try it sometime,” richie declared, closing the window behind him before turning to look at an unusually quiet eddie. he thought he would've at least asked why he’s here at- _where’s a clock... ah!_ -eleven at night, when they both had school the next morning. “aren't you gonna ask why i’m here?”

eddie knew richie was one for showing up unexpected and unannounced, but didn’t at all have a problem with it. he’d never admit it out loud, but even if it was three in the fucking morning, his window would still be unlocked for richie to climb through at any moment if he needed to. “why, rich? why _are_ you here?” he asked, watching a grin bloom over the other boy’s face.

“well! i’m glad you asked,” he remarked, sitting down on the smaller boy’s bed, making it sink into itself. “get your shoes on, spaghetti man, for we are going stargazing!” eddie felt a now familiar ping in his lungs at the statement, willing himself from reaching for his aspirator. _alone time with richie. under the stars. together. alone._

-

the stars shone down on them, the moon particularly bright that night, casting a grey haze across richie’s face that illuminated it in the most beautiful way possible. eddie had willed himself to keep his gaze away from him, for the way his lips held his lit cigarette taunted him and pulled him in until he was gasping for air around the blooming flowers in his lungs.

“you having fun yet, eds?” richie asked, pulling eddie out of his thoughts for the first time in what felt like hours. he looked up at richie, who was tossing his now finished cigarette out of his fingers, and knitted his eyebrows together.

“are _you_ having fun?” he asked, considerably ignoring the nickname and not letting it get to his freckled cheeks. richie smiled toothily at the question, looking down at the smaller boy and catching his eyes with his, setting off another ping in eddie’s lungs.

 _he’s going to fucking kill me,_ the smaller boy’s mind raced, _he’s going to fucking kill me and then i’ll be dead. i can already picture my gravestone now, ‘edward kaspbrak; died due to richard tozier’s stupid fucking-’_ “i always have fun when i’m with you,” richie confessed, another ping following it. at that moment, eddie knew he was fucked. he hastily pulled out his aspirator, his hands shaky as he pressed it to his lips. “hey, hey, are you okay?” came richie’s calming voice, a hand pressed to his back. the action only made it feel as if someone had sprinkled sunflower seeds over the entirety of his lungs and he was forced to deal with the consequences. 

“yeah,” the suffering boy choked out, pulling away from richie’s hand. “yeah-yeah, it’s just humid out,” he gave a few hand motions, taking deep breaths. “fucks with my lungs.”

richie pulled his hand back, crumbling into himself. “okay,” he whispered, a look of hurt passing by his eyes and disappearing quickly, without a trace. if eddie wouldn't have been looking, he would have missed it easily. “we can go back home, if you want to.”

- 

the hallways were busy the next morning, though ben stuck out to eddie over everyone else. he had been up thinking until the crack of dawn, barely getting any sleep at all. “i need your help,” he spoke from behind ben, the other boy immediately recognizing his voice.

“with what?” he asked, turning around to take in eddie’s appearance. his eyes were blood-shot and the underlining was a purple color. ben’s eyes grew, looking taken aback with the sight in front of him. “jesus, eddie, are you feeling okay?”

-

“describe it to me,” ben spoke calmly from his chair across from eddie. they had gone to the library during their free period, the small boy’s silent haste to the situation concerning ben, letting him know this was urgent. 

_“i-i need you to help me write a poem... f-for richie.”_

eddie’s eyes fogged over, trying to think of a way to voice how he felt in words ben would understand. “i-it feels like i’m being _consumed_ by him. l-like i can’t think of anything else _but_ him, even though every time i _do_ , i nearly suffocate.” 

after he had said that, ben immediately started writing in a small notepad, ideas finding their way onto the paper quickly. over the next hour, they went over multiple poems, eddie not seeming to find one particularly perfect, until _one_ was written in scratchy handwriting atop the white paper. eddie knew it was _the one_ when he felt another ping in his lungs at the words alone.

_“you made flowers grow in my lungs and although they are beautiful, i can’t fucking breathe.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> leave your comments/thoughts!  
> tumblr: @sunflowerrichie


	2. consumed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> eddie's being consumed. richie is overthinking.

after the lunch bell had rang that day, eddie rushed to richie’s locker, knowing the taller boy was busy with his annual after-lunch smoke break. he scanned the hallway quickly, easily missing over stan squinting at him curiously, before sliding the small poem decorated with sunflowers into one of the slots on richie’s locker. 

_i really hope this is his fucking locker_ , eddie thought nervously at the time, though it was obviously the trashmouth’s locker. the smaller boy’s eyes scanned over the ‘the cure’ sticker placed crooked on the metal, feeling a small smile bloom over his features. the smile quickly disappeared, though, when he heard a familiar voice speaking up behind his shoulder.

“eddie?” stan asked, making eddie jump about ten feet in the air and turn around quickly. stan blushed considerably, talking again. “sorry, didn’t mean to startle you,” he said, bashful.

“oh yeah.. uh, hi,” eddie said and almost laughed at the situation, both boys speechless with a nearly suffocating question lingering in the air between them.

stan spoke up about it first. “you know this is richie’s locker, right?” he asked, scanning over the familiar number placed at the top in silver lining. eddie froze, feeling his lungs tighten. _if stan finds out and he tells richie, i’ll be done for. but he would never do that, right?_

“y-yeah, was just, uh... dropping off the notes from earlier,” the small boy lied, though he knew with stan’s gaze, that he had, in fact, been caught red handed.

stan just nodded slowly, adjusting the books in his hands impatiently. he made a move to start walking away but before he could even move a foot, the smaller boys fist caught his faint blue polo shirt. “wait, i-” eddie started nervously, now retracting his hand with a burning red face. he stood up straighter a second later, deciding it was hard to keep anything from stan and even though he knew it would never happen, was fearful he would ask richie what eddie dropped in his locker earlier. he could see it now - the dull grey gravestone with ‘died due to unrequited love’ printed boldly across the middle. “meet me at the bleachers before sixth period.”

stanley nodded, understanding. “of course.” and with that, the two boys bid their goodbyes and stan walked off. the second he was gone, however, eddie slouched into richie’s locker with a long sigh. 

- 

eddie sucked in a long breath, looking into stan’s curious eyes before he started speaking. “i think i may be dying,” he started out, watching stan furrow his eyebrows, nervous eyes peering down at him. he didn’t say a word, though, wanting to soak up all the information the boy with asthma would let him. after a moments pause and a moment to suck on his aspirator _(or to blast off, as richie would call it if he were here right now)_ , he started talking again. “rich and i have been friends forever, i mean, for fucks sake, i know everything about that kid, but it’s different now. i-i think i’m starting to like him, stanley. jesus, i feel like i’m being consumed by that mother fucker. every time i think about him, i lose my breath, stan,” he paused, breathing out steadily through his nose before starting again, more quiet. “i asked ben to help me write a poem for him,” stanley blinked, his features changing from caring to shocked in the blink of an eye.

and then eddie paused and stan started speaking. “so _that’s_ what that was,” eddie nodded.

“please don’t tell him,” a look of begging. “oh god, if he were to find out it’s me and-and he didn’t feel the same way, fuck,” he let out a breathy sound, it being all he needed to say for the noodle-head boy to understand.

“i won’t, you have my word.” and that was the end of it.

- 

the next day at lunch, richie was quieter, more or less. eddie noticed his leg bouncing uncontrollably under the table, paired with his swollen, bitten bottom lip and cloudy eyes. _it’s not because of the poem_ , eddie told himself, breathing shakily as he felt more flowers sprout.

but, little did eddie know, richie had been thinking about that damn poem since the second he opened his locker and it floated out with the wind. he read it over and over again until three in the morning, lightly skimming his fingers over the small sunflowers in the corners and smiling. “can't fucking breathe,” he had whispered to himself during the early hours of the morning, his mind briefly flashing eddie’s soft smile. he shook his head, seeming to snap out of it. 

he looked over at eddie, plastering on a lopsided grin _(though eddie didn't miss the way his eyes looked more dull than usual, as if he had been thinking hard about something)_. “you get any good chucks lately, spaghetti-o?” he asked, a question he only asked when it had been quiet for a while and he was trying to spark up a conversation.

eddie slumped, pouting. “first it was eds, then it was eddie spaghetti, then spaghetti man, and _now_ spaghetti-o? you're running low on ideas here, rich, can’t just keep pinning it on me that my name rhymes with spaghetti,” the small boy huffed out though his eyes were light, a fond look in them. richie grinned bright then, his eyes dancing.

“what about eduardo? or maybe even-” and the conversation went on like that, getting a beep or a groan from the rest of the losers every once in a while. 

that night, though, richie sat in bed, staring up at the ceiling, the same words repeating in his head. “you made flowers grow in my lungs,” he breathed, holding the small paper close to his chest. _eddie_ , he thought again. “and although they are beautiful,” he continued, letting his eyes get watery. _eddie, eddie, eddie_. “i can't fucking breathe,” he finished, letting his eyes close and a small tear slip out. he fell asleep that night with eddie’s name on the tip of his tongue and had dreams about the small boy’s soft eyes and his fiery attitude. 

if eddie had not been the one that wrote the poem for him, richie thinks he might go crazy. either way, he knows he’ll have to fess up soon or he’ll be consumed in the same way eddie had been since the first flower sprouted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> leave your thoughts/comments!  
> tumblr: @sunflowerrichie


	3. wait

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> richie breaks; but, so does stanley.

three days after eddie had told stan about the poem, stan was starting to be eaten inside out by the way eddie’s words repeated in his head. he started to notice richie becoming more quiet, more reserved; an unusual occurrence for the trashmouth. he often wondered if he knew it was eddie, for the way he wrote, or if the words decorating the small sheet of paper told richie everything he needed to know.

meanwhile, richie was fighting a battle in his mind. he stayed awake days at a time, lying in his bed, the words repeating in his head as his fingernails scratched at his wrist, a nervous habit that was starting to come back when he became this way. 

on this particular night, richie was in too deep. he was awake, staring up at the ceiling, the dark surrounding him being filled by his thoughts. at 11:28pm, he scrambled out of bed, tears streaking his cheeks as he reached for his phone.

he thought briefly of calling eddie, but instead called stan, for he knew he was always the one who knew how to help him the most. richie often thought of what thoughts plagued stan’s mind for him to know exactly how the black-haired boy thought. 

stan picked up on the third ring, voice hushed and slightly muffled. “richie?” he asked, hearing the small cries coming from the other side of the phone. “are you okay?”

“no,” richie answered, his voice breaking off.

stan stayed quiet for a moment, intaking breath and exhaling with a concerned, “what’s wrong, richie? do you need me to pick you up?”

richie shook his head, realizing shortly after that the jew could not see him. “no,” he said, wiping one of his cheeks and breathing shakily. “someone wrote me a poem, stan. i don’t know who it’s from, or if it was just some sort of sick joke, but _fuck_ , it’s eating me alive, stanley. i don’t know what to do anymore.”

the boy sounded broken, making stan’s heart shatter. this was a side of richie that rarely ever came out, and if it did, it meant he was going through something _bad_. he sighed, rubbing at his eyes before answering the crying boy. “i know who wrote the poem.”

the world froze for the trashmouth. did he really want to know? what if it had been a joke from one of the jocks, or worse, henry bowers, and stan had just witnessed it accidentally. _fuck_ , he thought, _it was one of them and i was stupid for thinking it was eddie. i knew i should’ve just-_ “who was it?” he asked, cutting his own thoughts in half as the silence between them was deafening.

and so stan told richie it was eddie. for the first ten minutes, he couldn’t believe it. “why would he do that?” he had asked, the question being answered with a, “he said he can’t breathe around you, that he felt like he was being consumed by you.” and fuck, if richie didn’t feel it, too. that sentence alone made him think about the night that the smaller boy pulled away from his hand, gasping for air under the stars. 

“wait, why didn’t you just tell me?” richie asked, not rudely, but questioning, before they got a chance to hang up. 

“he told me not to,” the other boy answered easily. “he thinks you don’t feel the same way. you do, right? like, feel that way about eddie?”

“yes,” richie told him, smiling. “i thought it was him, but i wasn’t sure, and i didn’t want to make assumptions and turn out being wrong.”

and with that, stan chuckled, shaking his head fondly. “insecure gays these days, huh?” he said, which made richie let out a howling laugh. 

when the laugh died out, and stan was left grinning at the sound, richie spoke up again. “why didn’t you tell me sooner, though? i _am_ your best friend,” he said jokingly, though stan knew him better than that, knew it in the way his breath slightly hitched at the end, knew he really wanted to say ‘i thought i was your best friend’.

“yes, richie, you’re my best friend,” the dirty-blonde chuckled, making richie’s shoulders relax. “i was trying to be the good guy, you know, actually _listen_ to my friend,” he giggled. “but, seeing as he nearly broke our precious trashmouth, i couldn’t hold it in any longer.”

 

when he got off the phone with stan that night around 12:57am, he had a plan devised in that clouded mind of his. he lied awake for another two hours, but instead of breathing shakily as he clutched the poem, he had a grin on his face, eyes blood-shot and tired, the poem held over his chest. 

_tomorrow_ , he told himself, _tomorrow, it’ll all fall into place._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> leave your thoughts/comments!  
> tumblr: @sunflowerrichie


End file.
